Brian De Palma: give him a break!

The bit that always chills me is when Carrie gets home from the ball, goes upstairs for a bath and we glimpse her mother hiding behind the door. This movie nails the school bullying mindset better than any other I can think of, even though the 'kids' are too old for their parts.

This is, without doubt, one of Brian De Palma's greatest achievements, an incredibly rich and playful movie which immeasurably rewards repeated viewings. Basically, you get out of it what you put in. If you've got your wits about you, an open mind and a keen pair of eyes, you're in for a treat. Beneath its ludicrous exterior there lurks as intelligent a film as you could wish to see, a film which, refreshingly, credits its audience with the ability to understand it without spoon-feeding. If you've been paying close enough attention, the controversial late twist triumphantly validates innumerable carefully laid glimpses of the truth; you ought to feel exhilarated rather than cheated, eager to hit the rewind button in search of further clues. In De Palma's enchanted world: fish-tanks mimic overflowing baths, advertising posters offer vital pointers, casually seen faces become woven into the story and time stands still. As a Parallel Universe thriller, it's smarter, wittier, more inventive and more skilfully told than "Run, Lola, Run" et al. Ironically, this masterpiece sank without a trace in the UK and is hard to locate on DVD.

"Greetings" was good but the sequel "Hi, Mom!" is astonishing, easily the best of Brian De Palma's early comedies and still one of the greatest films he has made. It's overflowing with terrific ideas and is brilliantly shot and edited, retaining a vitality and an awesome power in spite of its often dated subject-matter. Robert De Niro reprises his role of Jon Rubin, a voyeuristic Vietnam vet who sets out to make a porno movie by surreptitiously filming the residents of a neighbouring apartment block, then joins an experimental theatre group and, finally, becomes an urban terrorist. The first part of the movie, with Allen Garfield reprising his role of a smut peddler from "Greetings", is hilarious, and one is completely unprepared for the shattering shift in tone which follows with the "Be Black, Baby" segment, in which a group of whites in blackface are terrorized by blacks in whiteface to help them understand the 'black experience' of living in America. This harrowing sequence alone would make "Hi, Mom!" a five-star film; everything else is just a bonus.

In short, "Carlito's Way" is the great movie that "Scarface" should have been. Interestingly, the old-fashioned plot - a criminal's thwarted attempt to become a legitimate businessman - is essentially the same as that of "The Godfather" saga, the crucial difference being that Pacino's Michael Corleone is a good guy who turns rotten, whereas his Carlito Brigante is a bad guy eager to mend his wicked ways: Corruption versus Redemption. One of the limitations of a Corruption storyline is that the audience frequently fails to empathise with the loathsome central character; the main reason I don't like "Scarface", De Palma's Corruption gangster movie, is that it is short on plot and long on running time, although it certainly doesn't help that Tony Montana is a vicious little bastard who is impossible to care about. Carlito, by way of contrast, is immensely likeable and, as with Harvey Keitel's Charlie in Scorsese's "Mean Streets" (which I prefer to the otherwise critically unassailable "GoodFellas" because, frankly, I don't really give a shit what happens to Ray Liotta by the end of that movie) the film is propelled by our desperation for him to succeed, coupled with our almost certain knowledge that he shall not do so.

Rarely have De Palma's bravura set pieces been as unobtrusively subservient to the storytelling as they are here, and the 'trick-shot' suspense scene and Grand Central Station finale rank among his finest work, even though the latter chase sequence does begin very lamely: "There he is! Come on!!!" Sean Penn - resembling a '70s-era Randy Newman with a receding hairline - is good fun in a showy but shallow role, but some of the supporting performances are far superior, particularly Viggo Mortensen as the treacherous Lalin, who deserves better than the slapdash, unresolved fate he receives. There is something preposterous about Carlito's relationship with the dancer, Gail, but the performances of Pacino and Penelope Ann Miller just about pull it off, producing De Palma's most tender and genuinely affecting scenes since "Carrie". I can actually find a lot of faults with "Carlito's Way" - for instance how a couple of long, prowling camera movements are scuppered by the bad acting of Jorge Porcel's Saso - but every time I watch it I'm willing the guy to catch that train, just one time. That's got to qualify as great filmmaking!

I love this film so much, but I'm not blind to its shortcomings: Kevin Costner is ideally cast as the basically decent, strait-laced, intentionally-dull everyman, Eliot Ness, but his moral code is even more ephemeral than Sean Connery's Irish accent; De Niro's hammy, pantomime-villain performance as Capone only exposes the hollow core of this breathless entertainment; and, though it may be the actual truth, Capone's ultimate conviction, merely for income-tax evasion, is one hell of a dramatic anticlimax. In fact, what one remembers best about the film are Brian De Palma's directorial flourishes, which probably barely registered in the original script: the audacious homage to Eisenstein's Odessa Steps sequence at the railway station, and the subjective-camera stalking of Malone and his subsequent death scene. Ennio Morricone's otherwise magnificent score suffers from the digital sheen prevalent at the time.

It really annoys me when you get smart-ass cinephile types dismissing De Palma's work as mere Hitchcock pastiche, just to display the little knowledge they've acquired. At his best, De Palma just uses Hitchcock as a jumping-off point for his own style of suspense virtuosity, which is closer here to Dario Argento and the Italian giallo tradition. Nobody ever mentions it, probably because they're too busy ranting about shower scenes and cross-dressing, but the scene which most closely mimics "Psycho" is the psychiatrist's explanation of the crimes near the end.

I'd love to give this five stars but I just can't. Some of the acting is a bit wobbly, with Michael Caine alternately excellent or amateurish depending on the scene; his meeting with Dr Levy on the staircase is terrible. Though he's been accused of misogyny many times, the most offensive thing I find here is De Palma's depiction of the inside of the insane asylum, though it could be argued that the scene in question is just the nightmare of a character who would know no better.

One of De Palma's most fascinating films, this parapsychological thriller is surely the most downbeat mainstream film of the Seventies. Not a critical favourite, I actually like this one a lot. The first couple of times you watch it it just feels like a series of striking set-pieces poorly strung together, but with further viewings De Palma's virtuosity and inventive use of storytelling techniques (like CCTV, unusual back-projection, subjective camera and slow-motion) assert themselves. I can't deny that the plotting does go astray later on. Though it represents a bold deviation from audience expectation, the outcome of Kirk Douglas' final reunion with his kidnapped son cannot fail to disappoint; as with Scatman Crothers' return to the Overlook Hotel in "The Shining", you wonder why he (and you) bothered. However, John Cassavetes comeuppance at the end is worth hanging on for. John Williams contributes an excellent Bernard Herrmann-esque score.

A fantastic but flawed thriller combining elements of Antonioni's "Blow Up" and Coppola's "The Conversation". The main weakness here is Nancy Allen. Never the greatest actress, her likeability carried her through the role of the plucky hooker in "Dressed to Kill" with reasonable success; in "Blow Out", as a sweet and ditzy make-up artist, she's just plain bad, although, to be fair, she does improve as the movie progresses. The bleak ending, though nicely ironic, offers ample evidence of De Palma's cruel streak and his contempt for audience expectations. Shot by Vilmos Zsigmond, the film looks great, and the crucial scene where Travolta makes his sound recording of the accident, featuring some lovely deep focus 'scope shots with super-size animals in the foreground, is a classic.

The Brian De Palma movie most overtly in thrall to Hitchcock, and the closest he's come to direct plagiarism. De Palma and Paul Schrader's borrowings seem more audacious today than at the time because, a critical and commercial flop in its day, "Vertigo" was difficult to see by the mid-'70s, before the advent of home video. Though he emulates well the stately pace and elegant camerawork of his template, De Palma cannot quite capture the strange, ethereal atmosphere of the earlier film. His usual cinematic trickery is kept largely in check, excepting a bit of slow motion and some experimentation with split focus anamorphic lenses, a technique he would later use to great effect in "Dressed To Kill". A lot of people don't like Cliff Robertson in "Obsession" but I think he does really well as the lead; because his face is largely expressionless, rather like a Jean-Pierre Melville gangster, when he does react it produces a stunning impact, as with the final, beatific little smile which ends the movie. Genevieve Bujold is superb, and Bernard Herrmann's score, his penultimate, is quite the equal of some of his work for Hitchcock.

With respect to the subsequent direction his career took, "Sisters" is the most important movie Brian De Palma ever made. Though there are numerous references to Hitchcock here, the use of split-screen to create suspense is highly original and brilliantly done. Jennifer Salt's anti-establishment journalist is rather dated now but Margot Kidder and (early De Palma regular) William Finley contribute superb performances.

This is one of those crazy little Hitchcockian thrillers that De Palma churns out between big-budget Hollywood assignments. Here, besides obvious nods to "Psycho" and a host of other movies, he finds time to reference his own "Sisters" and "Dressed To Kill". John Lithgow is great, playing multiple roles, Pino Donaggio contributes a good score and there are a couple of superb orchestrated camera movements. If you accept it on its own barmy terms this is a lot of fun.

A reinterpretation of "Phantom of the Opera" as a camp rock opera, this is one of Brian De Palma's most interesting departures, and also one of his most downright entertaining movies. Unfortunately, although Paul Williams turns in an excellent performance as the villain, record producer Swan, his song-writing contributions, however sophisticated, tend to be ghastly sub-Carpenters ballads that offend the ears and date the film terribly. Rather than being the highlights, as they ought to be, the musical numbers here, excepting a rock 'n' roll and a Beach Boys pastiche, become opportunities to put the kettle on.

A fascinating time-capsule from Brian De Palma, featuring Robert De Niro. The pair had previously worked together in 1963 on a film called "The Wedding Party", which still hadn't been released theatrically by the time "Greetings" came out in 1968. You can tell how dated this film is by listing its primary interests: draft-dodging, the Vietnam War in general and conspiracy theories surrounding President Kennedy's assassination. In fact, just about the only topic the film deals with which hasn't dated is that ageless concern of young people the world over, getting laid. There's no discernible plot or a particular point being made here; it's just an irreverent, episodic, freewheeling, ballsy poke in the eye to the prevailing sacred cows of the time. De Palma's thematic interest in voyeurism can be traced back to De Niro's character in "Greetings", Jon Rubin, who would be further developed in the superior sequel, "Hi, Mom!" a couple of years later. Gerrit Graham is very funny as an obsessive critic of the Warren Commission, and there's a great scene where he meets a paranoid eyewitness to the JFK assassination in a bookstore: "There's a plaster cast of the pillow that was used to smother my aunt!"

I didn't find this film boring at all. Confusing, yes, but not boring. I'll agree with the consensus that "L.A. Confidential" is a much better movie than "The Black Dahlia", but the source novel was better to begin with. I would certainly say, however, that Curtis Hanson's directorial flair is no match for De Palma's audacious crane shots and long subjective-camera takes. People don't like this film because it makes them feel stupid; it's so dense and intricate that it simply cannot be digested in a single viewing, much like De Palma's neglected masterpiece, "Femme Fatale". At least four fifths of the movie are fine but De Palma does fluff the denouement, making it unclear why the Dahlia was killed in the first place. Fiona Shaw's spectacularly awful performance as Ramona Linscott doesn't help, turning a poor climax into a risible one. Was Elizabeth Short murdered because Ramona was jealous of George Tilden's obsession with her? And, if he was so obsessed, why did George assist with the killing rather than try to prevent it? Very odd. Also, Mia Kirshner doesn't look anything like Hilary Swank! Still, visually it's a treat, the meticulous period recreation is a joy to behold, and it's nice to see De Palma reunited with old cronies like Vilmos Zsigmond, Gregg Henry and William Finley.

Made in 1963 and shelved until 1969, this was the feature debut of Brian De Palma and the first of three early movies he made with Robert De Niro. Plot-wise, it's a very simple farce about a bridegroom's last-minute jitters, but it's very flashily put together with speeded-up photography, slow-motion, freeze-frames, jump-cuts and a host of other tricks utilised. Hardly a great movie but, as with a lot of low-budget, independent films, the enthusiasm of the people involved is infectious and charming.

This is a little known independent film made by Brian De Palma in-between "The Fury" and "Dressed To Kill". It was made with a crew of young film students as a philanthropic hands-on exercise in movie-making, helmed by De Palma and with contributions from his Hollywood contacts: composer Pino Donaggio; actors Kirk Douglas, Gerrit Graham and Nancy Allen; editor Paul Hirsch, etc. The hope was that the movie would be a commercial success and would kick-start a wave of independent film-making. Unfortunately, this didn't happen, but "Home Movies" is still a little gem which is well worth seeking out. Its humour is rather more absurd and less gentle than that of De Palma's first feature, "The Wedding Party", though the tangible enthusiasm for the project by all concerned is somewhat similar to that film's. This is more than just a fascinating cul-de-sac in his career, containing as it does a few of the recurring motifs of his major work, most notably voyeurism ("Hi, Mom!", "Sisters", "Body Double", etc) but also the idiosyncratic use of railway stations ("Dressed To Kill", "Blow Out", "The Untouchables", "Carlito's Way"). One comic episode in which Keith Gordon, grease-painted and sporting an afro wig, is assaulted by a racist cop reminds one of the "Be Black, Baby" segment in "Hi, Mom!". Essential viewing for die-hard De Palma fans.

I like De Palma, so I can forgive him a lot, but I'm kind of with his detractors here. This ultra-sleazy fusion of "Rear Window" and "Vertigo" is hugely inferior to "Dressed to Kill", "Blow Out" and even "Raising Cain". A silly voyeuristic thriller, it features a murder plot so audacious - and so reliant on the unpredictable manipulation of a third party - that it would surely never have been attempted. Rather than squirming uncomfortably with passive complicity at the hero's voyeurism, you'll probably be laughing out loud at the hapless dullard. Some poor make-up work gives the game away from the outset, but the promise of a 'Scooby-Doo' ending might keep you watching.

I'm about to commit heresy here but - gasp - I really don't rate this film! In fact, it's one of the few De Palma films I can't find anything good to say about. It's overblown, boring as hell and there's not a single likeable character in the whole movie. Who'd have thought so little plot could be squeezed into three hours of film? One of the most interesting traits of Brian De Palma is that he invariably manages to leave his signature on everything he shoots, even his least personal, most mainstream assignments; excepting a bit of swooping camerawork and some fine suspense in anticipation of imminent nastiness, "Scarface" is perhaps his most anonymous movie. I can't decide which dates it most horrifically, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio's poodle perm or Giorgio Moroder's ghastly soundtrack.